Dreamways

I read V.S. Naipaul’s Mr. Biswas on the plane. I’d read the first hundred pages a few weeks ago, and then moved on to other reading pastures. Last night’s second hundred were an oddly slow read. Something about N’s language does not flow with ease to my eye. It is mostly detached, not juicy. Descriptions at an odd narrative distance. Not poetic, not psychological, not dramatic. A neutrality.  read more »

Eldora. The cabin became twice as peopled this afternoon, with the arrival of Skip and Sarah, and then, Nona and Kimba. S & S are spending the night, N & K have departed back to Denver, Nona having to work in the morning. (On the national holiday! But hospitals don’t have days off, do they?)  read more »

Friday morning. Pale blue sky, with flourishes of white tufts of cloud along the southern horizon. The washing machine churns warm-wash colors, the dryer tosses whites in endless desiccating circles. A fascinating piece of event happened yesterday, the reverberations of which are rippling circles in the waters of my psyche. I’d mentioned a week or two ago to F that I’d like to connect with an environment where I could practice el idioma castellano. F had some immediate ideas, but needed to ponder. Yesterday I reminded him and he printed some stuff out for me.  read more »

Sleep Dream.   I am in Riga. Old Town. I’ve gone into a Latvian crafts store, similar to, but smaller than "Stallis.“ I am the only customer in the store. As I look around, on top of a glass-topped display case I see a lovely hand-made blank book. A chocolate toned, hand tooled leather cover. A bit narrower than this journal, but an inch of two thicker, wIth a fine white paper. I admire its beauty, its crafsmanship, its Latvian design. I pick it up.  read more »

Having reached pg. 775 at the time of leaving Ash Street, I’d set aside Don Quijote when we moved into the loft. It sat fat and imposing upon my night stand. Having just finished The OT, a not insignificant tonnage of words, I felt inspired to pick the Spaniard up again. Yesterday I spent all afternoon curled up in the stained glass reading chair, El Gran Diccionario Larousse and Quijote in my lap.  read more »

Sēžu Seintmarka smēķēšanas daļā, jo šodien ir brīnišķīgi apmākusies diena un līņā, tāpēc, atskaitot vienu dullu sievieti, neviens nesēž ārā, un es saķēru pašu pēdējo brīvo galdu. Šodien kļūstu veselu gadu vecāks. Vakar biju 51 gadīgs vīrietis un šorīt – bums! – esmu 52 gadīgs! Jūtos mazliet apstulbis, miegains šorīt, lai gan teorētiski vajadzīgās stundas tika nogulētas.  Interesanti, ka kafejnīcas aizmuguras logi aizrestoti. Šī varbūt ir pati pirmā reize, kad sēžu smēķētājos.

 read more »

Wednesday, late afternoon, at The Market. I’ve just finished walking my circuit of chores: post office, credit union, faxing at Home Dept. I enjoy the new locales and new routes that starting out from the loft affords me. It’s a gorgeous day: blue sky, gentle sunlight, a luxurious touch of coolth in the air. SF weather, such a perfect match for my body and temperament.  read more »